


Why, Iggy?

by Nicrenkel



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, F/M, Fluff, Grumpy Mickey, Humor, M/M, Milkovich household, Overdramatic Ian, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicrenkel/pseuds/Nicrenkel
Summary: Based on an open prompt:"I need an Iggy sex scene. I need it to be extremely weird/kinky. I need him smoking during it. I need Nascar playing on his tv. And I need it to be interrupted. But to have him not stop and carry on a conversation while banging as if it's no big deal. Fully nude. Thanks."





	Why, Iggy?

Ian awoke to the sounds of an angry Milkovich.

“Of all the fucking times to mess with my shit- gonna rip his fucking head off.”

Mickey alternated between frantic pacing in front of the bed, and digging furiously through his closet, muttering to himself at an impressive speed.

Ian looked around at the clothes strewn about the cluttered floor, and back up at his boyfriend’s panicked expression. He could tell what kind of morning he was in for by the height of his eyebrows. “What’s wrong, Mick?”

“Do you know what the fuck happened to my Stinger?”

His _what_?

Ian rolled the word about in his still groggy mind, slowly coming to.

“My FIM-92 Stinger. Haven’t even had it for a week and already some dipshit assclown with a death wish decides to lay his fuckin’ hands on my FUCKING PROPERTY. IG! GET THE FUCK IN HERE!”

Ian could hear Mandy shouting in response, over the loud thrum of some Breed song or another.

He slowly climbed off the bed, and ambled his way to his cranky boyfriend, “You know how much I love it when you’re grumpy?” He wrapped his arms around the back of Mickey’s shoulders, nuzzling his nose against the ear that didn’t have a phone pressed to it. “How the fuck did you get a rocket launcher?”

Mickey shot him an incredulous look. “Of all the stupid fucking- YO! Tony! Call me back you sack of shit!” He hung up his phone and scrolled to find the next number on the list.

Ian kissed him softly under his ear. “You know, Grandpa, if you can put off fighting WW2 for awhile I’ve got a bazooka right here that you can focus on…”

Mickey shrugged him off, clearly not in the mood. “Colin, you’d better answer the fucking- I swear to god whoever fucking took my Stinger is gonna lose their teeth.”

Ian relented, patted his plump, round ass cheek, and stumbled back towards the bed.

“Cut his hands off, pull his teeth, he can’t even be identified”, he mumbled incoherently to himself, “My uncle Joe can—IGGY! WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

Ian plopped onto the foot of the bed, and faced his boyfriend. He had to admit, Mickey could get pretty entertaining when he was riled up.

“A Stinger, huh? Isn’t that a little big for you to be handling all by yourself?” His shit eating grin did not go unnoticed. Mickey shot him a look, then glanced down at Ian’s tented boxers. He bit his tongue, and refrained from making the obvious comparison. He had plenty of expertise in handling Ian’s pink torpedo.

“Hey, go get Ig. Tell him to get his ass in here. He better not have touched my shit. How many times do I gotta tell him to stay the fuck out of my room? Next time, I’ll just aim my Ruger in his fat fucking face and empty the clip.”

Before Ian could protest, Mickey was back on the phone. “How close are you? Well fucking drive faster then! TWO MINUTES. Tell Colin if he walked into my room without my permission I’ma slit his throat. Give him a Colombian Necktie, see how he likes it. Same goes for you, asshole.”

He ended the call and started scrolling for the next number. He turned to Ian, red faced and impatient. “Ian, PLEASE. Go fetch Sleeping Douchebag. I don’t care if you gotta douse him in gasoline and light the fucker on fire, get his ass up. I need to talk to him!”

Ian sighed, then relented. The sooner he appeased his disgruntled boyfriend, the sooner he could pull him back into bed.

He shuffled out into the hallway, the sounds from the speakers drowning most everything out the closer he got to the living room. He passed the kitchen, where Mandy was fixing her noon breakfast. He looked around at the empty living room. Iggy’s bong sat abandoned on the coffee table, but there was no Iggy to be found. He turned back to Mandy. “Hey, you seen Iggy anywhere?” “Probably in his room…and tell Mickey to shut the fuck up. Such a fucking drama queen.” She bit into her poptart, and reached for the orange juice, empty but for one last swig. “God damnit, Mickey!”

Ian approached the door to Iggy’s room, and heard muffled sounds coming from within. He knocked loudly. “Hey, Iggy?” He heard Iggy grunt in response, and took it as an okay to come in.

He stopped dead in his tracks; the sight before him rendering him utterly immobile.

Iggy was in bed on his knees, fully naked, facing a large flat screen, thrusting into some girl wearing only a full length Spiderman mask and what appeared to be a cashmere sweater. A large mirror was propped up in front of them, angled upwards for a better front-end view.

He turned his head towards the open door, and addressed Ian. “Hey, you got a lighter?” he asked around the cigarette dangling from his mouth, “Mine burnt out.”

It was like Ian had been hit by the force of a freight train. Too stunned to move or speak, he stood there unresponsive, mouth gaping open in confusion.

Still thrusting, Iggy shrugged and lifted his jar of peanut butter, scooping more into his mouth, avoiding the unlit cigarette.

Dizziness, nausea, and fatigue swept over Ian. Were these symptoms of shock? The thought made him break out into a cold sweat.

Mickey stormed in, glaring down at the cellphone in his hand. He was immediately halted by the sight in front of him. “Jesus Christ, Iggy, fucking warn a guy next time!”

A muffled sound came from beneath the Spiderman mask, and the girl pulled it up off of her head. “Mickey?”

“Oh shit, Angie? What’s up Angie! Haven’t seen you around in months!”

Angie Zago. His chest constricted as the memories came flooding back.

Wistfully, he wished he could go back in time, and undo the events that lead to him standing here, in this room, at this moment. Why couldn’t he have just slept in another hour or two?

"You died your hair red? Looks good on you."  
  
Ian, still under the impression that Mickey had ever fucked Angie Zago, shot him a look full of contempt.  
  
"Thanks, Mickey. Being a redhead makes me feel much more sexual."

Ian remembered what it was like to be sexual, back when his cock was still a functioning organ. It was early this morning, in fact. Barely eight hours ago, when he had Mickey folded in half against the head board, ankles slung over the younger man’s shoulders. Eight hours, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

He'd miss getting to fuck Mickey, but seeing as how the image unfolding in front of him would be seared into his brain for life, he didn’t think it’d be possible to ever get hard again.

Iggy sighed disappointedly, "Yeah, now she don't look like Gwen Stacy no more. She just looks like _Mary Jane_." He grabs onto a ponytail and pulls it back like reigns, using it for leverage to shift the angle of his hips.

Mickey snapped out the momentary distraction, and regained his earlier state of wrath. “Did you take my Stinger? I fucking need it. Tell me where it is or I’ll rip out your balls and shove ‘em down your throat.”

He ran his hand gently over the fluff of the sweater, circling the soft wool delicately. “Didn’t take your fucking Stinger, Mick. Ask Mandy.”

“MANDY! Get the fuck in here!”

Mandy stormed in, already cursing Mickey out, and was visibly halted by the scene in progress. Her expression fell from snarling and twisted to slack jawed and horrified.

“Ew, GROSS! What’d I fucking tell you about this?!?” She threw the remainder of her poptart at the older brother. “Keep your fucking door shut, assface!”

She turned to walk out of the room, cutting off Mickey’s question before the words had left his mouth. “If I had your goddamn rocket launcher I would’ve rammed it up your diva ass just to shut you up for awhile.” She turned toward the trembling redhead on Mickey’s other side. “No offense, Ian.”

Ian was recounting all of the things he had done in his life to deserve this, to have caused the path of his life to have turned so sharply, so unforgivingly, in this direction. At what point was there no turning back? Was this karmic justice?

Iggy looked mournfully at the crumbled remains of the poptart on the floor. “I would’ve eaten that.” He resumed his previous pace, still keeping an eye on the pile of crumbs, considering his options.

The front door slammed and Ian heard the approaching conversation through the hallway, “…Not with today’s forensics. One drop left behind and that’s life in the joint—” Colin and Sully came to a standstill next to Mickey. Colin frowned at the tv. “Why the fuck are you watching NASCAR?”

“Ang said she has a thing for fast cars, so I put this on” he responded with another mouth full of peanut butter. Angie shrugged, and turned back towards the pilfered flat screen.

Ian realizes that this is the last day of his life. It's been a good one, all in all. A fair amount of ups and downs, he could honestly admit.

He'd have liked to have called his family and told them goodbye, but once they've read the coroners report after his autopsy was completed, they'll understand.

Colin looks around the room. “Is that a fucking tens unit?” he inquired of the equipment sitting in the corner. “What’s a tens unit?” Sully asked. “Transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation. It’s a therapy that uses low-voltage electrical current for pain relief.”

Iggy looked back over his shoulder and smirked, “Yeah, and that ain’t all!” He gripped the top of Angie’s thighs as he rotated his hips and pulled her closer. She pulled the mask back over her face, and rested her chin in her hands, watching the race intently.

Mickey was losing patience. “Ay! Either of you two fuckheads take my goddamn Stinger? I’ve had it up to here with—“ He was cut off my the notification ding on his phone. He took the phone out of his pocket and read the text. “Oh, no shit? Jamie borrowed it for a bit, needed to take it to Indiana with him.” He was instantly pacified by the information from his oldest brother. “Hey, you guys ready to head out? Grab the M16 and the AK.”

As they exited the room, Iggy called back to his younger brother, “Mickey! You got a lighter? Mine burnt out.” Mickey tosses his at Iggy. "Make sure you return it. Sick and tired of you assholes losing my shit."

Iggy catches it in his left hand, and shifts his right leg up and over the back of the girl in front of him. He used his right hand, still clutching the peanut butter, to stabilize himself. As soon as his foot was stretched far enough forward to where it was almost touching the back of her head, he resumed thrusting.

Something in Ian snapped, “GODFUCKINGDAMNIT! WHY, IGGY?!! THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU—YOU’RE NOT EVEN—WHAT THE FUCKING—“

Iggy lit his cigarette and looked at Ian’s choked, unblinking scowl through the reflection in the mirror braced upwards upon the floor. “If you’re sticking around, you gotta pay for the show. This is gonna take awhile.”

Mickey grabbed tight around Ian’s waist, and walked him backwards out of the cascading circles of hell. "And keep your fucking door shut, asswipe!" He slammed his brothers’ door shut behind him, just to have it bounce back open a foot.

Once he’d reached the safety of the hallway, Ian crumpled slowly to the floor, curling himself into a ball. "You okay?" Mickey asked, dropping down to one knee. He gently smoothed the hair out of Ian’s face, gazing at his goofy boyfriend lovingly. "Yeah, you're okay."

He leaned forward to kiss his forehead, and ran a hand reassuringly through his hair. "Gotta make a run. Gonna stop for some Mickey D's after. You want me to pick you up something?" Ian's dead, soulless eyes stared ahead blankly. "S'okay, baby, I'll get you a happy meal."

With that, he sauntered towards the front door, Colin and Sully awaiting his word. “Yo, you guys ready to head out?” They followed close behind. “Yeah, as long as I don’t gotta touch any radioactive waste”, Sully replied nervously.

Mickey’s cynical retort was drowned out by Iggy shouting through the cracked open door, "Hey! Bring _me_ some Mickey D's....deez nuts, right Ang?"

A single tear rolled down Ian’s cheek, just in time to hear Angie’s muffled moans floating into the hallway.

Mandy walked out of the kitchen and stopped just short of the huddled mass on the floor in front of her. She gave him the most sympathetic look she could muster, and sighed, “You really need to get out more.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
